


Learning Curve

by dozmuffinxc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I posted a prompt meme on my Tumblr yesterday, and wildcard_47 asked for Johnlock with the prompt "The paint is supposed to go where?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildcard_47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/gifts).



John knew as soon as he shouldered open the door to the flat that something was wrong. It was too quiet. 

Setting down the shopping bags on the kitchen counter, John scanned the sitting room without success. _The bedroom, then,_ he thought, and resolutely pointed his feet in the direction of Sherlock’s room.

Wide, bewildered eyes met John’s as he tiptoed into the room. Taking in the scene strewn out on the bed, it was all John could do to keep from snorting.

“Thank God you’re home, John,” Sherlock whimpered, balancing himself on his knees atop the duvet in a rare attitude of supplication. “You have to help me.”

John took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose delicately.

“What’s happened, Sherlock?”

“It’s just,” the other man sputtered, glancing around frantically at the miniature bottles strewn haphazardly across the bed, “I’ve deleted – you have to understand – completely useless information, but… the paint’s supposed to go _where_?”

John didn’t try to hold back his laughter any longer. Crossing to the bed, he plopped himself down on the coverlet and scooped their daughter up in his arms. From the state of her paint-splattered elbows and knuckles, he could surmise easily enough what must have happened.

“Didn’t your mum ever paint her nails, Sherlock,” he asked, grin stretched wide across his face.

“Frivolous habit,” Sherlock scoffed, but his eyes softened as they settled on the sight of Eleanor reaching her chubby, rainbow-flecked arms out to him. “But Herself was quite insistent.”

“Well,” John said, lifting his squirming burden, “let’s get you cleaned up and see if we can’t teach your Daddy about proper cosmetics, eh?”

“I shall strive to do better next time,” Sherlock promised, solemnly standing to place a soft kiss on the top of the little girl’s head.

John smiled fondly at them both before setting off for the washroom, dragging a protesting Sherlock in his wake. Eleanor wasn’t the only one covered in paint, and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy subjecting Sherlock to a nice, long bubble bath.


End file.
